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Eaftóspsychopompery
"I̺̗ͩ̅ͫ̅̚ ̩͙ͨ͛̏s͉̳̬̬̞̄ͦ͆ͧͩ̇̿ȅ̼̹͚͑ͦͤ̈́̀͑e͍̞̰̜̥̋ͣͫ̊̄ͮ ͚̣̜̳̘̫͋ͅĩ̪̲͉̳ͫ͋t̲̥̺̥͕͚͔̓ ̹͓̳̅͌̎ͫ̂͆̾A̪̼̙̝̣͖ͦ̒̊̔͂ͪͅl̯̹̰̱̲͍̯̊ͧ̓̄l̹̩͈͖̩̫͇̐!̩̘ ̤̰̼̗E͉͎̮ͮ̉v̝̞̯͉̰̭̦͌̀ͭ̀ͥ̂ͥe̺̥̩̦͙̮̰ͭͣn͖̬͔̣̘̞ ̟̰͆̑y͍̪̱̹͍o̹͕̥̩̲̫̜̎ͦ̚̚ŭ̟͕̬̠͔̯ͧ̔͋,̱̜͎͉̥̤ͯ͑ͯ͑̏̚ ͕ͭ͋o͍͕̝͙͆ͫḧ͎̫̗͇̩̟̫́̓̃̎ ̟̊̂̋r̲̞͍̟e͓̠̼͂ạ̱d̦̄ͯ̆̉̌e͓r͇̬̲̆̽̊ ̹͖͙̤̹̱͇̈́͛́͗o͎̞͍͇͈̮ͪ͂̿f̈͛̿̋͊ ̞m̾̀ͩ͛̈́̒͋ì͈̫͙̀̉n̒̅͛e͎͔͎̯̗̼̮!̝͓̜͔̫̀ͤͣ͛ͪͭ!̪̅̎̾"" Eaftóspsychopompery is a technique developed and coined by The Constellate. In its local multiverse, death and life do not function the same as it does in other universes. Its closest parallel in those other universes is Thanatonautocy; the practice of voluntarily dying in order to experience insightful visions of the hereafter. For entities in The Constellate's local multiverse (colloquially dubbed by them as ''The Constellverse', imperialistic as they are), unconsciousness and what it entails is as close as an individual gets to the 'death' of other universes. As seems to be the case in many, many universes, the unconscious (and subconscious) mind absorbs more than what the conscious mind senses. Dreams, then, are the collective mind's means of sorting through and making sense of everything it has consciously and subconsciously experienced in its waking hours. Dreams, of course, can be insightful and offer wisdoms not pondered on in waking hours. The downside of this is that a mind, unless trained, often forgets its dreams and still yet doesn't realize it is in a dream until it wakes. Its perceptions and grip on reality is loose and shaky. Eaftóspsychopompery, then, is the reconciliation between dream insight and lucidity. It is a willful manipulation of one's sleep cycles wherein one forces and prolongs ''hypnagogia; the experience of the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep. In essence, this is the conscious cognitive processing of subconscious logic. Constellate Journal Fragment Between the dusk of wake and the dawn of sleep lays mind's hypnagogia; an umbral mindscape wherein the terrain is dark and mysterious but the eyes to view it are wide and bright. It is not meditation, for meditation is voided consciousness. It is consciousness shaking hands – passing the torch – to its somnic sister. This ephemeral unity does not last long. With bated breath does the sister exhaust the light and with caressing hand she guides the soul into the great unknown in hopes to help them unravel shrouded enigmas hidden away from their diurnal visage. Sadly, often do clutched riddles wriggle through fingers no matter how hard they may grasp and claw; reality's wakefulness too brash and blinding, engineered by the physical world whom is a domineering lord with too much gravitas for his own good. He reaches far from The Deep with strong hands and snatches down the dreamer, slamming them upon reality's coldsteel floor and alas, æther's acquiesced answers are again away from faltered hands. ''Is this the mechanist's design? Is a demiurge to blame for this swift decline? I've not every answer - instead many solutions - and this is what makes divine. With reach higher than Deep's grasp I seize my inner universe's limbs as its two sides once more tries to shake hands. I lovingly take both sides into my own palms; reconciling two halves to become whole – '''holy - to commune with The High.'' Will anyone else ever understand? I fear everything born is born grounded; souls are bound in mortal coil with soles bemoiled by porous dirt that let seep The Deep. The prior sentence twists tongues like The Low warps lungs and renders them unable to call unto The Sky. But they know not of It at all – their intrinsic dichotomies rooted in earth six feet deep. Ascension is many things but easily understood it is not. It cannot not be esoteric and occult until a mind finds its wings. Category:The Constellate